


Expect The Unexpected

by cordeliadelayne



Category: Primeval
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Stephen, Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, Getting Together, Head Injury, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2016-07-11
Packaged: 2018-07-22 20:22:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliadelayne/pseuds/cordeliadelayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen has a surprising encounter whilst helping Cutter organise a fancy-dress party for the university.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Expect The Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lukadreaming](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=lukadreaming).



> Written for the always lovely lukadreaming, who gave me the prompt “swashbuckling”.
> 
> Originally posted to Livejournal in 2011.

“I don't understand. I spoke to someone yesterday – Allison? - and she said that the Indiana Jones costume would be reserved for me.”

“I'm afraid there's been a mistake”.

“Yes, there has,” Stephen snapped. He ran his hand through his hair, making it spike up in all directions. It wasn't as if he really wanted to go to the fancy dress party anyway, only both Professor Cutters' had told him he had to be there – Nick for moral support, Helen for immoral.

“I do think though, sir,” the clerk said with a gleam in his eye, “that you will make a rather dashing pirate.”

* * * * * *

The University's Palaeontology Department had hired out a nearby great hall for the weekend of the party. One that was supposed to be haunted by the ghost of Anne Boleyn, to which suggestion Cutter had loudly scoffed and asked the Dean whether the expense of the hire had been so she could afford to have her head reattached.

The Dean had politely but firmly chucked them out of his office.

Stephen had to admit it was a beautiful venue though, and the money from the entrance fee and the boarding fee for those brave enough to spend the night would guarantee the Palaeontology Department at least two overseas digs next year.

“You never said,” Cutter began, as he and Stephen did one final sweep of the downstairs to make sure anything breakable was secure, “what costume you got.”

“It's a surprise,” Stephen said. “What about you?”

“Indiana Jones,” Cutter replied, making a whip cracking motion with his hand. “Had to fight the girl in the shop for it though. Wanted me in some pirate get up with tights. Me, wearing tights, can you imagine?”

Stephen pulled a face. “I may never be able to not,” he muttered under his breath.

Cutter mock glared at him, perfectly aware of what he'd just said. “Helen won't tell me who she's coming as. She hasn't told you, has she?”

Stephen shook his head. “No...no.” He'd actually been avoiding Helen for the past week, ever since she pushed him into the Department's stationary cupboard and gave him a blow job that he hadn't exactly objected to, but which had sent him straight into the nearest gay bar.

Cutter shook his head, a fond smile on his face. “I'm sure whatever it is, it'll be perfect.”

“Hmm,” Stephen nodded, non-committally. On one hand Stephen was happy that Cutter was so obviously in love. On the other hand, Helen was proving herself to be more unhinged than he would have credited when they'd first met.

As Cutter said his goodbyes and went off to get changed Stephen promised himself that after the party he would tell him everything...

...but then he'd said the same thing about the Christmas party, and his birthday party, and the Guatemala fund-raising party...

...and Helen still found her way into his bed and his not quite complaining arms.

* * * * *

Stephen stood in front of the mirror in the room at the hall he was to use, unabashedly admiring the view. It wasn't the costume he would have picked for himself. Well, it wasn't at all. But it fit him like a charm, smooth lines accentuating every inch of his body.

“So much _firmer_ than my poor husband,” Helen purred.

Stephen grimaced at Helen's reflection as she wrapped her arms around him. He hadn't even noticed she'd come in, so content to stare at himself.

(Not that he was foolish enough to tell her that. She bit).

“Helen,” he said instead, “shouldn't you be downstairs with Nick?”

“When all the fun is happening up here?” she asked, flicking open the top button of his shirt.

“Someone will notice you aren't there,” Stephen hissed, trying to tell his traitorous body not to react to Helen’s fingers moving down to stroke against his hardening cock, tightly encased in his breeches. “It's your party.”

“Honestly, Stephen,” Helen said, nails just the wrong side of painful against his crotch, “has any one ever told you to live a little?”

Stephen bucked forward despite himself, and he knew straight away that it had been the wrong thing to do. Helen's mouth twisted into a grimace and she stepped away from him.

“I'll see you downstairs,” she said, and Stephen didn't have the heart to argue. He knew, he _knew_ that he needed to end this stupid bloody fascination with Helen bloody Cutter. And yet, and yet, and yet...

With a deep sigh he stared morosely at his reflection, nausea building at the thought of all the things he'd done and all the things he could see himself doing. In that moment he really didn’t like himself very much.

But there was nothing to be done about that, not right now. He had to do as good a job as he could of convincing Cutter that everything was perfectly normal.

He readjusted his shirt and then moved over to the bed where he had left his sword (blunted, but still a pretty effective weapon if he decided that the evening would be best topped off by decapitating Helen). With those final touches he declared himself ready to join the party – a lot rested on this going well, including his sanity.

* * * * * *

“Stephen, there you are,” Cutter called out from the bottom of the stairs. Stephen smiled. The Indiana Jones outfit actually suited the older man surprisingly well. “The Dean would like to see you.” He winked and shrugged one shoulder and Stephen wondered for a moment if he was having some sort of seizure before he remembered their earlier conversation back at the office and Cutter's insistence on having signs for when to go in for the kill, and for when they needed rescuing from academics who could bore for England. Which, granted, was probably most of the people in the room.

Stephen wished, not for the first time, that Cutter had let him decide on what the signals ought to be.

“Right,” Stephen called. “Coming.”

He wasn't exactly sure what happened next. His foot slipped, or he misjudged how far apart the steps were, or his costume was a little longer than he'd thought. All he knew was that one moment he was walking down towards Cutter and the next he was falling, tumbling down the stairs and into nothingness.

* * * * *

Rain was lashing down, hitting Stephen squarely in the face. He blinked and then twisted around so he was on all fours.

“Do you surrender?” a voice yelled at him. He shook his head, trying to get the ringing to clear from his ears. He was soaked through to the skin, he had what felt like a cut to his cheek, the blood dripping down on to the deck and his sword was just out of reach.

“You should know me better than that by now, _Captain.”_

In one fluid motion Stephen had rolled so that he could grab his sword and stand erect, parrying the blow that Captain Becker made at his head.

“You think that I don't know what this is about?” Becker growled, easily blocking Stephen's blow.

The other pirates, forming a circle around the two combatants, jeered and hollered, stamping their feet in rhythm with the rumbles of thunder in the sky above them.

“The job should have been mine,” Stephen snarled. He moved his feet across the deck, testing his balance and adjusting to its slipperiness. His senses were still addled by his fall, but he felt certain that he hadn't done any permanent damage.

“Never thought I'd accuse you of thinking too much,” Becker said, thrusting his sword towards Stephen's ribs. Stephen just managed to block it, slipping backwards and catching himself before he went barrelling into one of the spectators.

“At least I do think,” Stephen replied. “I doubt you know how.”

He charged then, hoping to get Becker off balance, but when Becker had a sword in his hand he was capable of moving with a surprising grace.

Not that Stephen had been paying any particular attention.

Stephen _was_ a little distracted though, and only just managed to bring up his sword enough to defend his manhood, as Becker crowded into his personal space.

The men’s jeers seemed to fade into the background as Stephen and Becker stared at each other.

“I don't remember what we're fighting about. Do you?” Becker asked, pressing closer to Stephen.

“No,” Stephen gulped, “can't remember at all.”

“My quarters?”

Stephen nodded, his mouth suddenly dry.

“We've declared a truce,” Becker shouted to the crowd, “and now we'll discuss terms.”

Becker ignored the shouted complaints as the men began to return to their duties, their lust for blood unsated. Instead he pushed Stephen through the crowd and into the captain's quarters.

They were on each other before the door had even fully closed, throwing their swords into the corner of the room and grappling with each other’s shirts, ripping and pulling until bare skin was exposed.

“No more disobedience,” Becker growled, biting at Stephen's neck.

“And you think this is a worthy punishment?” Stephen panted, working to pull down Becker's trousers.

“Turn around and find out,” Becker growled.

Stephen opened his mouth to protest but Becker just had the edge on him and he found himself pressed up against the side of Becker's bed, his trousers around his ankles. Butter from Becker's interrupted lunch proved the best lube available and Stephen was in no position to do anything but beg for more as Becker pushed his way inside.

“So tight,” Becker said. “Could almost believe you’ve never done this before.”

Stephen cursed Becker's ancestors for as long as he was able but then all his thoughts turned to _wantneedpleasemore_ until Becker was coming inside of him and Stephen was forced to rut against the edge of the bed to finish himself off.

Stephen tried to buck Becker off of him but Becker leaned against him and wouldn't be moved until he wanted to be.

“Are you quite finished?” Stephen asked as Becker moved away and began redressing.

“For the time being. You should get dressed, there are duties to be attended to.”

Becker left the room and Stephen wondered how many new curse words he could invent whilst dressing. Finally, in a state that he hoped wouldn't give too much away about their recent activities, Stephen strode out of the room.

But Stephen had forgotten just how slippery the deck was and before he knew it he was falling over backwards and everything went dark.

* * * * *

“Stephen, his name's Stephen...”

“All right, Stephen, can you hear me? My name's Becker. I'm head of security here...you've had a nasty fall...”

“Becker,” Stephen croaked. “Is that you?”

Becker exchanged a concerned look with Cutter. “Yes, though we’ve never properly met.”

Stephen was lying at the bottom of the stairs, resting his head on Cutter's knees as Becker attempted to remember his first aid training.

“Punish me,” Stephen mumbled and Becker turned away, not quite sure where to look. Cutter was no help, trying hard not fall about laughing.

“Clearly he's a little confused,” Becker said. “I'll have one of my men call for an ambulance. Let's get him into a side room.”

Cutter had to pause a few times to stifle his laughter as he helped Becker to carry Stephen, especially when Stephen's hands started to wander towards Becker's arse, but they finally got him situated on a cot in the security office that was as good a place as any to wait for the emergency services.

“I hadn't realised you were acquainted,” Cutter said.

“Neither had I,” Becker replied with a confused look. “I only saw him that day when you came in to check the table layouts.”

“Apparently you made quite the impression.”

“Yeah,” Becker sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Look, you get back to the party, I can handle it from here.”

“Okay,” Cutter said, grinning, “good luck.” He patted Stephen on the shoulder and left the room.

Becker stared down at Stephen, who still seemed to be fighting consciousness and shook his head. He'd been hoping he'd get a chance to talk to the other man at some point that night, but this hadn't been quite what Becker had had in mind.

Stephen mumbled something and Becker moved closer, until his ear was next to Stephen’s mouth.

“You can buckle my swash whenever you like,” Stephen said and Becker jerked back as if he'd been burned.

“You don't know what you're saying.” Becker started to move away but Stephen grabbed his wrist.

“Everything's a little confused,” Stephen said, “but...stay?”

“I wasn't actually planning on going anywhere.” He removed his wrist from Stephen’s grip. “And you're in no position to be left alone. Just try to stay awake.”

“Is that an order?” Stephen asked with a lopsided grin that Becker did not find at all endearing.

“Yes,” Becker said. He tried to retain his composure but found himself failing in the face of Stephen's earnest gaze.

“Aye aye, then Captain, aye aye,” Stephen said, attempting to salute.

Becker rolled his eyes and was never more grateful than when he heard the sweet sound of sirens heading straight for them. When Stephen was back in his right mind, then they could talk.

Or at least pretend to, on the way to the good stuff.


End file.
